


Four Months

by Elvendork



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-01
Updated: 2014-04-01
Packaged: 2018-01-17 19:17:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1399435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elvendork/pseuds/Elvendork
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Martin Crieff and his father had a conversation about flying, and one time it was just Martin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four Months

**Author's Note:**

> The last drabble is an adapted version of something I've had on my laptop for almost two years, that I figured would eventually get uploaded into The Muse Tray. The rest I wrote at about midnight last night (well... in my head. I typed it this morning). Because Martin's speech in Limerick (especially _four months_ ) breaks my heart. As usual: No owning, no profit, etc.

**1\. “I wanted to be an aeroplane.”**

Four year old Martin Crieff is barrelling around the living room at top speed with his arms outstretched, making engine noises as he weaves in and out of the table legs. He is doing quite well, until he runs headlong into his father’s knees and almost falls flat on his back.

‘Whoa, there, little man,’ his father chides gently, putting his hands down to steady his son. ‘What are you up to?’

‘I’m practising!’ Martin announces, as though that much should be obvious.

‘Practising for what, exactly?’

‘For being an aeroplane when I grow up!’

‘Right. Of course you are.’

**2\. “I _have_ always wanted to be an airline Captain. Ever since I was six.”**

At long, long last, Martin finally tears his gaze away from the magnificent display overhead. He turns his face, which is positively alight with wonder, towards his father. There are tears in his eyes.

‘Dad?’ he ventures tentatively

‘Yes?’ Mr Crieff is smiling. He can’t help it, seeing his son so utterly delighted like this.

‘I’m going to be a pilot when I grow up.’

‘You’ll have to work hard for that.’

‘I will. I _promise_.’ Martin turns back towards the planes, still swooping and diving gracefully in the air show above. ‘I’m going to be a _Captain_ ,’ he breathes.

**3\. Pre-CPL Take One.**

Martin is pacing. He has been pacing for the last ten minutes or more.

He has been panicking for at least a week.

‘Martin, stop,’ his father says firmly. ‘Sit down – here, take deep breaths and stop getting yourself so worked up.’

‘But what if I fail? What if I’m not ready? I – I _can’t_ – Dad, I _have_ to do this –’

‘And you will. But you need to calm down first. You know more about aeroplanes than anyone I’ve ever met. I know how hard you’ve worked. You’ll be _fine_. Just relax. You’ll only make it worse if you panic.’

**4\. Post-CPL Take Three.**

‘Martin… maybe… maybe this isn’t the career for you, after all,’ Mr Crieff ventures slowly.

Martin lifts his head from where it was laid against his folded arms on the table and looks at him. Just looks. There is disappointment in that gaze, and disbelief. It is the face of a man who has had his last support pulled out from underneath him.

And even worse than that, it is the face of a man who had been expecting it to happen.

‘No,’ Mr Crieff shakes his head suddenly. ‘You know what? Don’t listen to me. You’ll do it. Eventually.’

**5\. Post-CPL Take Six.**

‘Alright, Martin, look… no one will think any less of you if you change your mind.’

‘I’m not going to change my mind.’

‘You’ve tried six times already.’

‘And I’ll keep trying until I do it.’

‘You can’t keep on like this. There has to come a point where you –’

‘Where I what? Give up? Is that what you want me to do?’

‘Of course not, Martin… It’s just… This isn’t working out, is it?’

‘It _will_. I just have to – it _will_. Please. I can’t give up. I’m so _close_ , I _know_ I am – I just… know it.’

**+1. Post-MJN Interview.**

‘Hi, Dad,’ says Martin softly. The smile he tries to force across his face flickers and dies like a broken bulb. He turns his brand new hat over and over in his hands, glancing between it and the gravestone and back again. He takes a deep, shuddering breath. ‘I did it,’ he says. His voice cracks on the last word and he has to stop. He closes his eyes against the tears and takes several slow breaths through his nose. ‘I did it,’ he repeats more quietly.

‘I’m sorry it took me so long.’

He pauses.

‘I’m a Captain, Dad.’


End file.
